


Swaddled in Darkness

by NETHERW4RT



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, Flirting, Fluff, Late Night Conversations, Literal Sleeping Together, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Not Beta Read, Pet Names, Phone Calls & Telephones, Sleepy Boys, Teasing, but like on a phone call, just a bit, rip my mans george and dream, they miss each other :(, woooooo yeah baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:21:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28454535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NETHERW4RT/pseuds/NETHERW4RT
Summary: “I miss you,” George murmurs into the darkness of his empty room.“I know,” Dream responds. “I miss you too.”
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 309





	Swaddled in Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> happy new year! :)

“I miss you,” George murmurs into the darkness of his empty room. He gently taps the phone in his hand alight and searches the fuzzy, morphing shapes for something familiar. He catches a glance of tan jawline and smiles ever so slightly.

“I know,” Dream responds. He keeps his curtains shut and lights off for moments like these, when George is alone and lonely, in need of something that feels like the blond is right there, lying across from him in bed. “I miss you too.”

“You don’t miss me like I miss you.”

“What makes you say that?”

George hums, wanting to frown but his heart does leaps in his chest that keep his lips drawn upward. “I can’t sleep without you anymore,” he confesses. “These calls—they’re for me, not you.”

Dream cracks a smile of his own, adjusting his position so that he’s lying on his side, arm outstretched through a mountain of pillows just enough so the camera can pick up his features in the dim light. A car passes by George’s window in the background, haloing him in golden rays for only a mere second, but Dream still relishes in his angelic beauty. “I would still call you, George,” he says quietly, “even if you didn’t need me to. I like looking at your face, hearing your voice.”

The Brit’s cheeks flush, turning red, and it’s barely distinguishable in the darkness of the early morning in Britain but Dream knows how to read him like a book—how to pick up on every little thing he says or does. “You’re a sap,” George says. “I love you.”

The camera jitters as Dream lets out a breathy laugh. “I love you too, Georgie.” 

They sit in each other’s comfortable silence for a while, gazing over smooth, shadowed skin and picking up the muffled buzz of overhead fans. George flips over onto his stomach as he pulls a pillow underneath his chin, still staring curiously at the screen to watch the background blur into blobs of nothingness as the camera readjusts on the other side. 

“It’s late,” Dream notes after a moment; his eyes are impossibly soft as they flit over George’s face. “You’re tired, aren’t you?”

“I am,” the older man agrees, voice barely audible, but the microphone does him enough justice. “I wish you were here, holding me. It’s cold.”

“I wish I was holding you. Bundle up, honey, don’t let yourself freeze to death because of me.”

“I’d haunt you,” George says, and it sounds like a promise. “It’s your fault if I die here, all alone in my cold, dark room.”

Dream scoffs. “Don’t say that,” he mutters and rolls his eyes, but he means it—they both know he does. “I’d never forgive myself.”

A silent sigh escapes his lips and George wiggles his arm to rid it of the prickling sensation that grows ever-present. He opens his mouth to suggest something, but the blond is always one step ahead, wetting his lips and beginning to hum out a hushed tune. George let’s the sound wash over him, as if allowing it to cleanse his body; he’s always loved Dream’s voice, whether it be loving whispers or excited shouts. It was like falling in love all over again the first time he heard the younger man sing.

“You should sing more often,” George reminds him faintly, for the billionth time out of however long they’ve known each other. “You waste it on joke songs, but it’s really beautiful, you know?”

“I like sleepy George,” Dream comments, laughing again. The Brit squints at the camera, attempting to pout but he just can’t bring himself to. “It’s for you, though, idiot. I don’t sing for anyone else.”

“Not even Patches?”

“Mm, okay maybe _one_ other person.”

“You’re so—”

“What? Perfect? I know.”

George rolls his eyes. “Yeah, _perfect_.” He pulls himself up against the headboard, leaning back against it as his knees find their way pressed up to his chest. He carefully balances his phone on the pale of one thigh, grinning as Dream watches him.

“You’re supposed to be going to bed, George, not sitting up and ruining your sleep schedule even more,” Dream says.

“Can’t help it,” he replies. “My heart is all...mushy. How am I supposed to sleep when you make me feel like my chest is full of candy floss?”

“ _Candy floss_?” The blond repeats. “I think you mean cotton candy. Still, the sentiment is there.” He shifts a bit as well and George watches with curious eyes; the camera blurs a bit before refocusing on Dream, hand raking through his bangs. 

“This is why I never tell you anything.”

“Oh, come on,” Dream starts and George feels his heart flutter at that stupid signature phrase, “it’s cute when you do. I like it.”

“Maybe just a little,” George says. “Only ‘cause I like you so much.”

“Do you now?”

“I do.”

Dream hums again, this time in satisfaction. Silence encompasses them again as George traces the constellation of freckles on Dream’s face with his eyes and imagines running his thumb over each and every dot. He imagines lightly tugging at the blond’s bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, watching his eyes light up with every drop of affection he holds for George before pulling him into a kiss; it’s quiet, it’s peaceful. He loves it. He _misses_ it.

He lets his head fall over onto the side of his own shoulder, eyelids falling shut along with it. Dream murmurs something incomprehensible to him through the static of his phone, but it doesn’t matter since George already knows it’s some whispered confession or sweet nothing anyway. 

“Don’t hang up,” he grumbles, eyes now refusing to open through sticky tiredness. 

“I won’t,” Dream says, louder this time. It’s enough for him to finally allow the wave of exhaustion wash over him like the tide to the shoreline, soon whisking his consciousness away into a comforting slumber.

His dreams are riddled with loving embraces, careful touches, and everything he longs to return to. It’s short-lived, lasting what feels to be only a moment before the sun is beating him down through the window he had left open. George slowly peels himself off the bed, untangling himself from the sheets, and picks up his phone. He smiles, the muffled sound of Dream’s breathing coming from the other end.

“Morning,” he whispers, “my love.”

**Author's Note:**

> [twitter](https://twitter.com/NETHERW4RT) 👍


End file.
